


A Serpent in the Dowlings’ Garden

by Demonicputto



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gardener Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Great Good Omens Snake-Off, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23188234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demonicputto/pseuds/Demonicputto
Summary: For the Great Good Omens Snake-OffWhile under the not so watchful eye of 'Brother Francis', seven-year-old Warlock Dowling finds a snake and decides it should be his new pet.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 90





	A Serpent in the Dowlings’ Garden

**Author's Note:**

> I came across Summerofspock's Great Good Omens Snake-Off on Tumblr yesterday, so I wrote up something short and sweet this afternoon. I hope it pleases!

There was so much Aziraphale loved about earth, books, symphonic concerts, and handmade pasta, among them. It had been a long time though, since he’d fully appreciated the planet’s most basic joys- the smell of freshly turned soil, the hope of a little green sprig sticking its head above ground, the triumph of coaxing a plant into bloom. The role of ‘Brother Francis’ had reacquainted him with these small wonders.

It was a shame it could all be gone in five years.

Aziraphale shook his head. It was no use thinking like that. It would all be alright if he and Crowley succeeded in their plan. Which reminded him, Crowley should have been back by now.

An hour prior, he’d stalked out of the Dowling residence with Warlock under one arm and plopped the boy down beside Aziraphale. He’d had a trying morning, if his appearance were any indication. Tendrils of frazzled hair hung loose from the usually perfect coif he’d chosen for ‘Nanny Ashtoreth’, and the bow on his dress hung untied. He’d leaned in close enough that Aziraphale could make out his eyes through the dark lenses of his glasses, and whispered with harsh desperation, “I need a break.”

“Of course Nanny!” Aziraphale had answered, just because Crowley had dropped his accent, didn’t mean he needed to. “Leave the lad with me. I’ll keep him safe and sound.”

Crowley had smiled at him, too relieved to act tough. He regained enough energy to remember Nanny’s Scottish brogue, “Thank you, Francis. I won’t be half an hour.”

But he had been, and now that Aziraphale thought of it, he began to worry. He peered over the uneven top of the bush he was trimming to make sure Warlock was not beginning to panic in his nanny’s absence. The boy, however, was just fine. He liked the garden, enjoyed exploring it, and, much to Aziraphale’s pride, was gentle with the animals he found there. Shortly after Crowley had left, he’d found some creature asleep behind a hedge and it had not yet lost his interest.

With a fond, false toothed smile, Aziraphale set his clippers on the grass and made his way over to Warlock. This seemed like a good moment to hammer in the lesson of loving all God’s creatures.

“What have you got there, Master Warlock? Have you made a new friend?”

The boy glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Yeah! I’m gonna ask Nanny if I can keep him as a pet. I’ll need a cage though. He keeps trying to get away!”

“Now, now, it’s not nice to keep an animal that doesn’t want to stay,” Aziraphale chided gently. He took a few steps closer and tried to see what Warlock had in his hands. 

“It’s alright. I’ll give him a real good home and then he won’t want to run away anymore. And he’ll make an awesome pet. See?”

Warlock lifted the poor creature over his head, and Aziraphale went pale beneath his glued on mutton chops. Clutched in his fingers was a small, miserable, very familiar snake.

In his truest serpentine form, Crowley was massive, but he was no more constricted to one size as a snake than he was when shaped as a human. As Britain was not known for its massive boa constrictor population, Crowley opted for a lesser size when he decided to take a sunny nap in the midafternoon. But the colors were the same: those midnight black scales, the ruby red belly, and of course the eyes as golden now as they were ever were.

He looked up at Aziraphale and mouthed: “Help me.”

“Now, Master Warlock,” Aziraphale began carefully, “not all snakes are meant to be pets. Some are God’s wild creatures and they’re meant to be free.”

Warlock looked at him, glanced down at Crowley and then shook his head. “Nah, this one’s mine. I’m naming him Snakely.”

Often, Aziraphale found Crowley more difficult to read in his snake form, but his disgust at the new name was evident. An eye twitched.

“I’m gonna get a big old tank and keep Snakely inside with leaves and stuff and then I’ll take him to school and show all my friends and everyone will be jealous and if they don’t play what I wanna play Snakely will bite them.” That desire to make others suffer would have to be addressed at some point when Crowley wasn’t in distress. He tried to slither free, but Warlock only held on tighter. A sudden sweetness overtook the boy’s expression. “And I’ll show him to Nanny too. I think she’ll really think he’s neat. Mom doesn’t believe me, but Nanny’s got a snake drawn on her face. I saw it.”

“You know what Nanny wouldn’t like? She wouldn’t much like you getting bit by a wild snake when she trusted me to look after you. So why don’t you just put the creature down? There’s a good lad.”

Only there wasn’t a good lad. Warlock squeezed Crowley tight against his chest, shook his head, and stuck out his tongue.

“It will bite you.” Aziraphale said firmly. He met Crowley’s eyes and nodded. It was the only way.

Crowley released a small serpentine sigh and then widened his jaw, revealing a pair of gleaming white fangs. He reeled back, ready to strike at Warlock’s bare hand and then- then he did nothing. He shut his mouth and hung his head. The poor dear had lost out to the dregs of his demonic conscience. He couldn’t harm this child who’d been entrusted into his care.

It was going to be up to Aziraphale.

“Put the snake down,” he said sternly. Warlock glared at him, but there was an edge of nervousness to the expression. He’d never heard that tone from ‘Brother Francis’ before. “Put him down now.”

“No!”

“Now, Master Warlock!”

“NO!”

Aziraphale lunged, Warlock rolled out of the way, causing him to fall on his face. The boy was up now and sprinting across the lawn, Crowley still clutched in one fist. He wiggled and waggled back and forth, partly out of an attempt to escape, and partly because of Warlock’s wild movements. Aziraphale stumbled to his feet and gave chase.

Around the garden they ran, dodging passed bushes, stepping over rakes, stamping through flowers Aziraphale had just planted. He snapped his fingers behind him, bringing them back to life as they hurried by.

The boy was fast and Aziraphale’s corporation became winded. Enough was enough.

With the flick of a wrist, he miracled a tree root to be just a hair higher than it had been a moment ago. Warlock’s toe caught on it and he fell into the dirt. For a split second his grip relaxed and Crowley took the moment to surge forward. He slithered free, darting under a bush fast enough that Warlock’s little fingers didn’t have time to seize him by the tail.

The boy burst into tears. “Snakely! Come back! Come back!”

“I’m sorry, Master Warlock, but it’s for the best. A creature like that isn’t meant to be locked up.” He bent down to sit beside him in the grass. Warlock hit him in the arm.

“I hate you! You made Snakely leave. I HATE YOU!” He beat his fists against the ground and wailed at the top of his lungs. Aziraphale sat uselessly, unsure what he ought to do next. The boy was only seven, and Aziraphale could never decide what was normal childhood behavior and what was a sign of great evil.

He said, “There. There.” and hoped that would be enough.

A shadow loomed over them, as though a very small creature had just turned into a much taller and more impeccably dressed one.

“Come now, dear. What’s all the fuss about?”

Warlock pushed himself up out of the dirt and sniffed dramatically. “Nanny, Brother Francis is mean.”

“That doesn’t sound quite right. Tell me what happened and let’s see if we can’t make it better.”

Warlock ran to Crowley, wrapping his arms around long skinny legs and weeping into his skirt. “I had- I had- I had a snake. An’ an’ Brother Francis chased me and made him run away.”

“A snake, dear? That could have been quite dangerous. It sounds like Brother Francis was trying to keep you safe. Why don’t you apologize to him.”

“But Nanny, you said ‘sorry’ was a word for the weak,” Warlock said, frowning.

“Oh, right. Of course. Well, at least don’t hold it against him, dear. He means well.” Crowley patted the child on the head. “Why don’t you run along inside and I’ll be there in a moment so we can get you all cleaned up.”

Warlock nodded and ran back towards the house, stopping only briefly to smile apologetically in Aziraphale’s direction.

Crowley shook his head warily. “This plan better be worth it.”

“You know, if taking care of him is exhausting, you could always retire and take on another role. I hear he’s in the market for a pet.”

Crowley lowered his glasses enough to glare at Aziraphale properly. “Shut up, Angel.”

“You're welcome, by the way.” Aziraphale said, patting his old friend on the shoulder.

“You don’t deserve it,” Crowley told him, “But thanksss.”

Aziraphale watched, smiling, as Crowley retreated back into the Dowling’s home. Yes, there was plenty on earth worth fighting for, the soil, the plants, even all the crawly little creatures that lived among them.


End file.
